


and yet, here we are

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Consensual Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: In which Geralt is poisoned during a hunt and desperately needs Jaskier's help to survive it. Jaskier simply needs Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 115
Kudos: 1266





	1. Chapter 1

The space between wanting and having was a fragile, suspended place, Jaskier mused as he watched Geralt strap into his armor with deft, practiced fingers. It was the moment after the swing of the hammer but before the strike of the nail. It was the crackle of the sky before the rain, the breath before the scream, the stillness of the heart before the heavy thud of passion.

Jaskier was sure there was a ballad there somewhere, but it was also the silence of the mind before the poetry flowed, and he just couldn’t quite put the words to the tune.

“Are you sure you don’t need any company?” It was a bitterly cold winter’s day, but Jaskier felt that he might rather be at Geralt’s side marching through snow than alone in the inn with a ballad that refused to be composed.

Geralt shook his head and tightened a strap. “Sounds routine, better for you to stay here and sing for your supper.”

Jaskier hummed, thinking of his empty purse, the last of their coin spent on renting their room. “I suppose I could be persuaded to sing a round of ‘Toss a Coin’ for the gentle folk of the inn. I’ve been planning to expand a few more verses--would you care to hear them before you go?”

“No, please. Please.” He winced and didn’t bother to hide it, turning for the door with his swords in hand.

“Well, best of luck.” Jaskier’s gaze lingered on Geralt’s form, his wide and capable shoulders, his strong thighs, his pale hair, free to do so since Geralt was facing the door but feeling guilty about it all the same. “I wish you a successful slaying.”

“Hmm.”

In the silence that followed after the door closed Jaskier considered the state of his heart, and how he always worried that when Geralt went off on his own it would be the last time he saw him. Surely it wasn’t healthy for his nerves to live in that constant state of having and not having, but honestly he didn’t like the alternatives.

As Geralt’s friend, Jaskier would rather watch him go and wait for him to return, than not to watch him at all. Wanting more than that was just foolishness.

He sang for the crowd that evening and they were quite receptive. He debuted his new verses to great applause, and a decent amount of coin was tossed his way when he reminded the patrons of the inn that Geralt was off even as they spoke slaying the beast that had been carrying off the townsfolk for the last two months. It earned him a nice meal, which he ate alone in the corner of the inn, ignored by everyone now that he had ceased performing.

Back in their rented room he took a seat in the uncomfortable chair by the fire and waited for Geralt to return from his hunt. He told himself that Geralt was fine, that it wasn’t so terribly late in the evening and Geralt would be back any moment.

To distract himself Jaskier turned back his thoughts to the ballad he’d been working on earlier. He felt that he nearly had something, just a tickle in the back of his throat that wanted to be realized, when Geralt burst through the creaky door and leveled a wild look at him.

He stared at the witcher and Geralt stared back.

“Jaskier, I need you.”

Jaskier blinked and carefully set aside his lute. “I’m sorry, you what now?”

“I need you,” he repeated, and his voice was even gruffer than usual. He began shedding his armor as he advanced into the room, kicking the door shut as he went.

“I’m going to need you to elaborate, Geralt,” Jaskier said very slowly as Geralt stripped off his shirt. There was a slice along his forearm that looked to have stopped bleeding, but no other injuries save some bloodied knuckles. Jaskier stood and retrieved the medical supplies, assuming that that was what Geralt was referring to. 

Geralt paced by the fire until Jaskier joined him there, placing a hand on his uninjured arm to stop him. Jaskier didn’t miss the way that Geralt sucked in a breath, looking down at Jaskier’s hand, which was removed quickly. Jaskier was ever aware of overstepping their unspoken boundaries as far as touch was concerned. Geralt didn’t like being touched, that much had always been clear.

“What was it this time?” Jaskier asked, dabbing at the wound with a clean cloth dipped in water. A sluggish line of blood welled up as he went, and he thought he caught a whiff of sweetness from the wound. He took a longer breath, searching for the scent again.

“Harpy,” Geralt replied, brief as ever, but he swayed oddly in Jaskier’s direction.

Jaskier frowned as he applied salve and wrapped Geralt’s forearm in clean cloth. “What is that scent?”

“Harpy claws are sharp and their tears are sweet and venomous. They don’t die easily. By the time I was done with her it was too late.”

Jaskier looked up at him sharply. “Venomous? What’s too late?”

Geralt shook his head. “It’s already in my blood. There’s nothing to do but ride it out.”

“Oh gods, what does it do?” Heedless of the consequences Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shoulders, and Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut. His skin was very warm, the heat sinking into Jaskier’s fingertips.

“It makes men crave the company of others. Their touch, their passion,” he replied softly, stepping a fraction closer to Jaskier, who swallowed hard. “It drives men mad. Sometimes it kills them.”

“Is there no antidote?” he asked, his voice wobbling slightly.

Geralt’s hands shook as he lifted them to touch Jaskier’s waist. His thumbs pressed and stroked through the fabric of his breeches, just barely. “There is, but I don’t have it.”

Geralt’s skin was growing hotter, too hot, and Jaskier’s heart was beating so fast that he stepped back abruptly, breaking all contact, panicking. “How long does it last? What do you need?”

Geralt growled softly, chasing the touch, before reigning himself back in with visible difficulty. “I’ll need to work the venom through my body, or the poison will set in and the fever will kill me,” he said bluntly.

Jaskier bit his lip. “Can we bring the fever down with ice? I could bring in some snow from outside, we could fill the tub.”

Geralt shook his head, his face impassive but his eyes glowing. “It’s an unnatural fever, only passion dispels it. It will get worse before it gets better. I don’t want to ask this of you, but if you don’t help me I fear that I might seek help from someone else, when my judgment is clouded.”

Jaskier had honestly never seen Geralt as vulnerable as he was now, and he was uncertain how to handle it. A wrong step could be costly.

“I can guard the door while you...work through it on your own?” His cheeks burned and he noticed that Geralt was flushed as well, and shaking.

“I already tried that. Several times,” Geralt admitted. “It should have been enough for a man, but my mutation makes me more vulnerable. I can’t find enough relief.”

“You need someone’s help. Someone else’s touch,” Jaskier whispered, finally understanding what was being asked of him. He vividly imagined Geralt in the forest, one hand braced against a tree and the other hand working his cock, spending again and again, to no avail. He shivered with the thrill of it.

“I don’t know…” Geralt said softly, frowning and looking at the fire. “I don’t know if our friendship will survive it, if you could ever forgive me. But I would never forgive myself if I demanded this of a stranger.”

Jaskier nodded, trying to catch his eye. “I am your friend. There is nothing to forgive.”

Geralt stepped forward, bringing his cheek close to Jaskier’s but not touching, breathing in deeply. “I need you,” he said simply, his voice deep and aching. “I’m burning up.”

Very slowly Jaskier lifted his hands and laid them on Geralt’s chest. He could feel Geralt’s heartbeat thudding against his fingers, and he thought of his erstwhile ballad, the silence before the heart’s drumbeat. “Like this?” he asked gently.

Geralt’s eyes fell closed and he took a deep breath. “More.”

Jaskier trailed his fingers down Geralt’s stomach, spanning the rippling muscles there, feeling the dangerous heat of him. “Like this?”

“More,” Geralt whispered, leaning into the touch. His breath was shallow and quick. He seemed afraid to touch Jaskier, his fists clenched at his sides.

Jaskier moved lower, cupping Geralt’s hard length through his leather breeches. “Like this?”

“Yes.”

He closed the distance between them and stopped his mouth millimeters from Geralt’s, close enough to feel his breath and the heat of his lips. “Like this?”

Geralt groaned and kissed him, opening his mouth and tasting him, hard and thorough. He carefully touched Jaskier’s cheeks and angled him until the kiss was perfectly aligned, and Jaskier shivered, something deep in him unfurling in response.

He unlaced Geralt’s breeches and pulled him out, slipping his thumb across the head of his cock, in the pearling liquid there. Geralt hissed and jerked away from the kiss, his cock pulsing already. The fever was rising, burning against Jaskier’s cooler touch, and with frightened urgency he found a quick rhythm with his hands. Geralt pressed his hot forehead to Jaskier’s and came with a breathy groan, spurting over Jaskier’s doublet.

“Is that--” Jaskier attempted, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the rush of blood in his own body. “Did that help?”

Before Geralt could answer Jaskier felt the fever recede like a wave, his skin cooling, the flush fading. “Better,” Geralt said, and swayed in place. He looked like a sleepwalker in a daze. “For now.”

Geralt was the most beautiful thing Jaskier had ever seen, and he felt sick with it. Want but do not need, touch but do not crave. He was caught between the stillness of the heart and the thrum of passion.


	2. Chapter 2

“Here, lie down.” Jaskier guided Geralt to the bed and helped him remove the rest of his clothes. When he was naked except for the bandage and his medallion he lay back on the bed, one arm flung over his eyes. His cock was still hard, curving up on his stomach and begging to be touched.

Jaskier stripped off his own doublet and shirt and tossed them aside. “There will be more?”

“Until the fever is gone,” Geralt said, his body already starting to tense up again.

“What do you need from me? I don’t want to overstep, Geralt. I know you don’t like to be touched.”

Geralt moved his arm away from his eyes. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Oh, but...you always move away when I get too close. Whenever I touch you.”

Geralt frowned at him, looking uncertain. “And you can’t fathom why that might be?”

Jaskier paused, frowned, and shook his head. Geralt refused to elaborate.

After a long silence, where Jaskier wondered if he should join Geralt on the bed or just wait by the fire until he was needed, Geralt finally said, “I don’t want more than you’re willing to give.”

“That’s delightfully vague,” Jaskier replied, blushing as he continued. “Do you want my hands? My mouth? More?”

Geralt shuddered, closing his eyes. His cock twitched and his hand fisted in the sheet under him. “Just lie here with me.”

Heart swelling and stomach dropping, Jaskier lay down carefully next to him, glad for his breeches which could disguise his own desire somewhat. He wasn’t sure where to put his head until Geralt stretched out his arm, and Jaskier gingerly rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. He could smell Geralt’s sweat, the musk and spice of him, and could feel the rising heat in him under his cheek.

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s stomach, watching it rise and fall with his quickening breaths. He itched to slide his hand down, to grasp Geralt’s cock, but he waited. It was too quiet in their little room, and the snapping of the fire was startlingly loud.

Geralt moaned and his hips shifted, rocking up, and he said, “Jaskier.”

“Hand or mouth?” Jaskier whispered, reeling at the sound of his name on Geralt’s lips, begging.

“Mouth,” Geralt bit out. “Please.”

“You don’t have to say please. I already know.”

Jaskier moved down the bed, mouth already watering at the sight and scent of Geralt’s cock. He took it in his hand and tested the heft of it, the girth, and slowly lowered his mouth and took him in. The heat of him was burning, overwhelming, and the salt leaking from him mixed with saliva and made everything slick and easy. Geralt gasped, clenching his thighs around Jaskier’s, tangled as they were with his.

“Make it last,” Geralt gritted, “take me higher. Burn it out.”

Jaskier reached up with one hand and clutched at Geralt’s hip, digging his fingers into hot skin and listening greedily to the quiet noises Geralt made. His fists were clenched in the sheets and Jaskier grabbed for Geralt’s hand, opening his fingers and shifting them until they were holding onto each other. Geralt gripped him like Jaskier was a lifeline and he was in danger of drowning.

He used every trick he knew to make Geralt moan and writhe, pulling off whenever it seemed like he was getting too close to the edge. He understood the concept now, to let the fever rise to such a height as could barely be tolerated, and then dispel the heat by finishing Geralt off. It wasn’t a hardship for Jaskier to imagine doing this all night long.

“I couldn’t do it myself,” Geralt gasped out, smoothing his fingers lightly over Jaskier’s hair, barely a touch. Jaskier hummed a question and Geralt shivered beneath him. “Find the passion. Let it build. Not even when I tried thinking of…” He trailed off, pressing his lips together as though he was holding back the words.

“I’m not going to leave you like this,” Jaskier said, sitting up for a moment. Geralt looked like a feast laid out on the bed, golden skin and golden eyes in the firelight, and Jaskier wanted to put his mouth everywhere. He wondered who Geralt had tried thinking of, but didn’t truly want to hear the answer. “You can think of whatever you need to, and I’ll be whoever you need me to be. Just close your eyes.”

Geralt did not close his eyes.

Jaskier applied his mouth again, slowly drawing the fever higher and wishing that this could be real, not just a lost night, a memory to move past in the light of day. If this was all he would have, then he would make the most of it, but he feared pushing his own passion into the mix. He would attend to Geralt’s needs and nothing more, no matter how difficult it was not to grind down against Geralt’s thigh and chase his own desire.

He looked up because he longed to see Geralt’s face slackened with passion, and was startled to find golden eyes still watching him intently. Despite whatever Geralt’s private fantasies were, he was choosing to focus on Jaskier. It almost made the whole thing worse.

Once Geralt’s cock was so hot on his tongue that he felt seared, and Geralt was twisting and panting beneath him, Jaskier finished him off and swallowed the bitter salt that pulsed across his tongue. He sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard and shaking.

He climbed off the bed and staggered to the window, leaning his forehead against the frosty glass and trying to find his composure. He could taste Geralt in his mouth, smell him on his hands when he scrubbed them over his face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said from the bed, and there was a rustle of the mattress. Jaskier glanced behind him to see that Geralt was sitting up, watching him with unblinking eyes.

“I just need a moment,” Jaskier said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

Silence stretched between them, and Jaskier could feel their friendship straining itself more with every moment that passed.

“I shouldn’t have asked this of you.” Geralt’s voice was full of regret, deep and scraping his throat.

“Given that the alternative is death, I’m glad you came to me.” Jaskier immediately regretted his bitter tone, and said softly, “I’m just sorry the one you truly want isn’t here. But I’ll give you anything you need. Gods know you’ve done as much for me in other ways. We’ll be alright, Geralt.”

He gathered his courage and turned around, his gaze lingering over Geralt’s form, all that flushed skin glowing with sweat. It was clear that the fever was creeping in again, though Geralt didn’t say a word.

Jaskier found a jar of bath oil next to the empty tub and brought it over to the bed, slicking up his hands. “Here, relax.”

Geralt slowly lay back, watching Jaskier’s face. Jaskier lay his hands on Geralt’s shoulders, thumbs bracketing his throat. He felt Geralt swallow against the touch. Slowly he drew his hands down that golden skin, touching him in every way he had ever dreamed of, leaving slippery trails of chamomile oil that he swept up a moment later as he retraced his path. Geralt’s eyes finally fell closed and he lifted ever so slightly into the touch. Jaskier slid his hands down biceps hardened with heavy muscle, raising the heat under his hands. The chamomile filled his lungs, mixing with Geralt’s own scent, and Jaskier bit back a moan. He tried to lecture himself, tried to remember that this was about Geralt and nothing else.

“I’m glad I can be here for you when you need me,” Jaskier whispered against his will.

“I am as well,” Geralt replied, taking Jaskier’s hand in his, palm to palm. Slowly he pulled Jaskier down, until Jaskier had to brace himself, and Geralt raised up to take Jaskier’s mouth in a soft kiss. Jaskier trembled, thinking that this was no kiss of passion or of friendship, but something more intimate and unexpected.

A moan slipped out from his throat, and he disentangled his hand in order to grip the back of Geralt’s neck and lift him into a harder kiss, taking control of it and sweeping his tongue against Geralt’s when he made an answering noise.

Geralt’s breath was heavy against Jaskier’s mouth and he breathed it in greedily. “I know you’re close,” Jaskier said, holding him tight with a thumb pressed to his nape. “Can you come just from this?”

Geralt shuddered and nodded.

Jaskier guided the kiss, putting all of himself into it, until the line blurred between selflessness and selfish passion. He held that line with all he was worth.

He took Geralt’s lower lip between his teeth and teased him with a gentle bite, and Geralt came untouched with a shocked groan, striping white across his own belly. Jaskier closed his eyes and released Geralt to let him fall back onto the pillow. His own cock was throbbing painfully, a constant reminder of all he had to lose if he acknowledged it.

Soon it wouldn’t matter, he feared, because eventually he’d succumb to his own desire and give away the truth, that he wanted Geralt enough to risk their friendship. It was one thing to offer a helping hand to a friend in desperate need, and it was another to crave his touch when he knew that in the light of day it would be an unwanted advance.

Jaskier made himself climb off the bed and get some distance from Geralt, even a few feet of breathing room, while Geralt cleaned his belly with the corner of the sheet. He looked utterly debauched, mouth bitten red and pale hair tangled across the pillow. He cast a pleading look at Jaskier, who was battling his own demons silently.

“Don’t go,” Geralt said, stretching out a hand, eyes bright with fever. “It’s getting worse. I need you.”

And Jaskier came back, hopelessly drawn to Geralt’s siren song.

The fire burned lower and Jaskier didn’t know how much time had passed since Geralt had crossed the room’s threshold, begging. Time had blurred into a hazy firelit dream, hours moving like honey. Jaskier gave in to his desire to put his mouth everywhere on Geralt’s body, though there was so much of him, so many miles and miles of golden skin and hard muscle, that it became clear that Geralt wouldn’t last that long.

Geralt thrashed on the bed, writhing under Jaskier’s mouth as he tested his teeth against Geralt’s nipple, biting down his ribs, digging his fingers into Geralt’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out, clutching at his shoulders. “Jaskier.”

“What?” Jaskier asked breathlessly, sitting back on his haunches between Geralt’s legs.

“I need more,” he said, reaching for the oil and pressing it into Jaskier’s hand. He spread his thighs and swallowed hard, and Jaskier understood but didn’t believe.

“Fingers?”

Geralt nodded, begging with his eyes.

Jaskier slicked his fingers and braced one hand on Geralt’s hip, dropping the other down between his legs, searching, slipping inside, driving slowly and inexorably in a rhythm helped on by the rocking of Geralt’s hips in counterpoint.

He knew Geralt could see the hard bulge of his cock inside his breeches, could not help but see it as Jaskier knelt over him. Jaskier held Geralt’s gaze, meeting it with equal intensity, feeling that line drawn in the sand disintegrating. It was too late, it had been too late since Jaskier agreed to help, it had just taken him this long to be brave enough to acknowledge it.

This kind of intimacy stripped down all barriers, and the darkness made it too easy to let go.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and the sound of his name raked across his heart every time. “You know what I need.”

Geralt’s eyes were fever bright, shimmering in the dark. Jaskier sucked in a long, slow breath. “If we do this...Geralt, if we do this.” He stopped, throat closing, wishing to all the gods that Geralt hadn’t asked this of him.

“Forgive me...I need you...Jaskier,” Geralt chanted under his breath, his eyes rolling back in his head, his back arching, his skin burning up and beaded with sweat. “Forgive me.”

When Jaskier released the laces on his breeches his cock sprang out heavy and flushed, harder than he could remember ever being before. He groaned with relief but didn’t dare touch himself except for the moments it took to slick his cock with oil. He urged Geralt to turn over and brace himself on hands and knees. Geralt swayed in place, his head dropping and his hair falling in a gray curtain.

It was easier to do it this way, in the dark without Geralt’s golden eyes on him, seeing his weakness. Let him think this was friendship, Jaskier prayed. Let him think anything but the truth, that Jaskier needed him too.

Being inside Geralt’s body was the closest Jaskier had ever been to sublimity, and it also broke his heart.

He urged Geralt into a slowly building rhythm, urging that fever to rise as high as it could go, burning it out like wildfire in a forest. Geralt’s groans were like music in a timbre no lute could match, setting their own fires in Jaskier’s veins.

When he sensed that Geralt could take no more Jaskier tipped his hips just so, angled his thrusts so that Geralt had no choice but to come in a long cresting wave that pulled Jaskier along with him, the both of them finally silent as they came down.

The fever broke under Jaskier’s hand on the small of Geralt’s back as he pulled out. It radiated outward, dissipating out through Geralt’s fingertips, and Jaskier could feel it slowly slip away as he reached out to brush Geralt’s hand, to snatch one more moment of intimacy as Geralt collapsed on the bed in a golden sprawl. Jaskier pressed a fleeting kiss to Geralt’s shoulder blade and crept away from him as quietly as he could.

Geralt’s breath still shuddered against the pillow, stirring the pale hair that had fallen across his cheek. Jaskier longed to smooth it out of the way but didn’t dare. His part was done, he had delivered Geralt from certain death just as Geralt had done for him many times before.

He cleaned himself up with a corner of the bed sheet and wavered with indecision as he looked at Geralt. After a moment he pulled up more of the sheet and carefully cleaned Geralt as well. Geralt barely moved, but said, “Jaskier,” and searched blindly for his hand.

Jaskier reluctantly let Geralt take his hand and squeeze it gently. “Sleep now, Geralt,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispered. 

Tears welled up in Jaskier’s eyes, and he was glad that Geralt couldn’t see them. He was proud of how steady his voice was when he said, “There’s nothing broken between us that can’t be mended.”

Geralt frowned, just a flicker of expression, and pulled his hand away.

Jaskier found a blanket and lay it carefully over Geralt, who didn’t move a muscle. He put his breeches and his shirt back on with sluggish arms, feeling cold without Geralt’s fever against his skin. He stoked the fire back up and warmth pressed into the room again. Jaskier sat down in the uncomfortable chair by the fireplace. He picked up his lute and held it to his chest, playing silent notes in his head. He wouldn’t be sleeping that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometime before dawn Jaskier finally felt weariness threaten to pull him under. He closed his eyes for just a moment, wondering if he should try to creep out of the room before Geralt woke up, and then opened them again when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled and disoriented, he looked up and saw Geralt standing there, naked, with an uncertain look in his eye.

“I missed your voice.”

Jaskier cleared his throat and stood up, setting his lute aside. His arms immediately felt empty and he crossed them over his chest protectively. “What do you mean?”

“During. You barely said a word. Usually I can’t get you to shut up.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I suppose it didn’t seem like the right occasion to talk your ear off.”

Geralt shifted his stance. “It was strange not to hear you, what you were thinking.”

“You didn’t need to hear what I was thinking, Geralt. It wouldn’t have helped the mood.” He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, too worn out to watch his tongue.

There was a long silence, then Geralt said, “Tell me now.”

Jaskier opened his eyes and met Geralt’s. They were shadowed but searching, and Jaskier had no defenses against him anymore. “I wanted to be the one you were imagining.”

Geralt tilted his head and took a shallow breath. “You were.”

Jaskier huffed out a self-deprecating laugh that sounded more like a sob. “You misunderstand, Geralt. I wanted you. I wanted you before all this. I needed you before all this. And I know how you feel about people needing you.”

Geralt stepped close and Jaskier took a step back. “I needed you too.”

“You needed me to help you survive the poison, and I did that. I’m just sorry that I imposed so much more than that on you.”

“You didn’t impose on me, Jaskier. You gave me exactly what I needed, even when I didn’t know myself.”

Jaskier raked his hands through his hair and looked away from all that naked skin just inches out of reach. He didn’t know how to respond to that.

“What happened to broken things being mended?” Geralt’s voice was low and soft, painful to hear.

“I never intended to tell you all this,” he blurted out desperately. “We were never meant to be this broken. I’m just so tired, Geralt, and I didn’t want you to know, but all it takes is a few words from you and I’m spilling out like a cracked cup.”

Jaskier waited for some kind of censure from Geralt, perhaps a gentle rejection, but none came. He tentatively reached up to touch a strand of Geralt’s hair, the safest thing he could put his hand on, and Geralt didn’t move away. “I would do it all for you again, but it wasn’t unselfish. I’ve needed you as long as I’ve known you, and I’m sorry for it.”

“Jaskier, you’re an idiot,” Geralt said fondly, a hint of a smile on his mouth. 

“Well, thank you,” Jaskier replied, taken aback. “I was already feeling such but I’m glad to know you agree with me.”

“You’re upset that I needed you and you needed me, is that right?”

Jaskier nodded. “But the difference is that you don’t need me anymore and I’ll always need more from you than you can give.”

“Who says I don’t need you anymore?”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut and he eyed Geralt with suspicion. “Don’t be cruel, Geralt. I know you’re not, at heart.”

Geralt sighed. “Who did I come to for help when my life was at risk? Who did I trust to keep me safe when my guard was down completely? You think I could have done that if I didn’t want you here? If I didn’t need you for more than what you could give me last night?”

“So you’re saying...what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Geralt said gently, “that I need you too. That the fever is gone but I’m still here.” He touched Jaskier’s cheek and leaned in slowly enough not to startle, then brushed his mouth carefully over Jaskier’s, a soft cling of lips that said more about intimacy than it did about passion.

“You didn’t touch me,” Jaskier blurted out, pulling back. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

Geralt sighed, kissing Jaskier’s forehead. “I was trying not to force you into something you didn’t want.”

“Then you’re an idiot too. I know I’m no good at obfuscation, Geralt, no matter how hard I try.”

“We’re both fools,” Geralt agreed, and kissed him again, this time flicking his tongue over Jaskier’s upper lip, tasting him and coming back for more.

“Will you touch me now?” Jaskier asked, trembling as he moved close enough to feel Geralt’s chest rising and falling against his.

In answer Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s neck with one hand and trailed his other hand over Jaskier’s shoulder and collarbone through his shirt. “Like this?”

Jaskier leaned into it. “More.”

Geralt pulled the shirt over his head and pressed his mouth to Jaskier’s naked throat. “Like this?”

“More,” he gasped, letting his head fall back.

“Like this?” Geralt’s words were slurred against Jaskier’s skin as he bit down the line of his shoulder and dipped his thumbs into Jaskier’s breeches, pressing below his hip bones.

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered, digging his fingers into Geralt’s shoulders, holding on tight as the world spun around him. Geralt’s arms came around him and gathered him close, flush against each other in a way they hadn’t been yet, despite everything else they had done.

He caught the tangled fall of Geralt’s hair in his hands, drawing it back and anchoring Geralt there for another kiss. Geralt didn’t seem inclined to try to escape, groaning into Jaskier’s mouth and teasing him with his tongue. Jaskier, who had had many kisses in his life, couldn’t remember one so devastating to his equilibrium. He thought he might shake apart in Geralt’s arms, and he pulled back to gasp, “Please, Geralt, if you’re going to change your mind do it now. Otherwise we truly will end up too broken to fix.”

Geralt shook his head and kissed him again, chastely. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Jaskier pressed his face to Geralt’s throat and breathed him in, the scent of sweat and spice from skin no longer feverish. “Then take me to bed.”

Geralt’s nimble fingers opened his breeches and let them fall, then Geralt was cupping his ass and pulling him in tight, and Jaskier’s knees went weak. It was an easy thing to fall to the bed, Geralt following him. The straw mattress was hard under his back but Geralt’s skin was soft and warm against his. Geralt’s thigh slipped between his, heavy muscle that Jaskier could grip and thrust against, throwing his head back as fire shot through his blood.

He felt as though he was the one who was at the mercy of a fever, desperate for Geralt’s touch after so long without it. He clung to him, unwilling to break contact, gasping when Geralt began kissing his way down his chest. He gave attention to nipple and navel, stroking with his tongue, raking his calloused fingers down Jaskier’s stomach. He sucked a mark into the dip beside Jaskier’s hip bone, and Jaskier felt his cock throb in response.

“Geralt--” he began, and Geralt laid a soothing hand on his stomach.

“Let me,” he murmured, and took Jaskier’s cock into his mouth.

Jaskier’s world contracted into points of light sparking behind his eyelids, the hot wet suction of Geralt’s mouth, gentle hands pinning his hips to the mattress. He lost track of time passing. It could have been minutes or hours spent at Geralt’s mercy, sharp pleasure dragging him higher and higher in its wake. He cried out when Geralt’s fingers slipped down to tease at his hole, not entering but hinting at the desire to do so.

“Please, Geralt,” he said, his voice breaking on a moan.

“Next time,” Geralt promised as he pulled off, his voice like rough stone as he dragged his fingers back up to wrap around the base of Jaskier’s cock. “Right now I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

He urged Jaskier’s thigh up alongside his, slotting them in tightly against each other. Geralt took both of them in his strong, calloused hand and pulled, using their combined slickness to ease the way. Jaskier rocked up into him, pressing his face into the column of Geralt’s neck, biting at his ear just to hear him swear and hiss. His hips bucked against Jaskier’s and together they found a rhythm like a heartbeat to move to.

“Next time, Geralt. Next time I want you to take me. I need to know what you feel like inside me. I just need you.”

Geralt let out a shuddering breath, shifting and tightening his grip. “I need you too,” he growled, the tender words sounding too rough, but Jaskier knew him so well that he could hear the meaning behind the sound.

Jaskier leaned back and found Geralt’s mouth, sealing them together and coaxing him to deepen the kiss. Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s pale hair, the exact color of the sky outside the window as the snowy dawn crept in. He made loose fists, tugging gently, and Geralt gasped into his mouth and quickened the pace.

“Are you close?” he asked, and Jaskier threw his head back for Geralt’s teeth on his throat. Together they were creating their own feverish heat, burning wherever they touched.

“I’ve been close for years, Geralt.”

Geralt huffed a laugh and twisted his wrist, and Jaskier was helpless to resist, striping across Geralt’s stomach and fingers. Geralt pulled him through the last pulsing echoes of pleasure, then used Jaskier’s spend to slick his own fist. Jaskier shivered at the glorious mess they made when Geralt came too, his lips catching on Jaskier’s cheek with a sound almost too low to hear.

Slowly Jaskier came back to himself and registered Geralt’s weight collapsed on top of him.

“Geralt, as much as I enjoy this, I need to breathe.”

Geralt levered himself off with a grunt and reached for the wine bottle on the table next to the bed. He took a long swallow and handed it to Jaskier, who gratefully drank, letting the sharp sweetness sink into his throat.

For a long moment he just watched Geralt beside him, the sweat slicking his golden skin, the pale hair disheveled by Jaskier’s fingers. He wondered what he looked like through Geralt’s eyes, and when Geralt turned a languorous gaze on him and his lips quirked in a small smile, Jaskier assumed that what he saw was good.

“I need you with me,” Geralt said, bracing himself on his forearm at Jaskier’s side. “I want to hear your voice, even on days you make me crazy.”

Jaskier gave him a side-eyed glance. “I thought I was a filling-less pie.”

He brushed Jaskier’s mouth in an almost-kiss. “I’ve never really cared much for pie anyway.”

Jaskier pulled him down for a real kiss, edging it into something more than comfort. “Neither have I,” he confessed. “And I’ve been working on a brand new ballad, by the way. It’s a melancholy love song dedicated to my favorite witcher. I can hear the words and the tune now, though I’m not feeling melancholy anymore. I wonder if I can finish it, now that you’ve given me everything I’ve wanted.”

“And what is it you’ve wanted?” Geralt asked, softly tucking Jaskier’s hair back from his eyes.

“The having, the rainfall, the heartbeat.”

Geralt frowned. “Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smoothed Geralt’s brow and lifted his mouth for another kiss. “In a word, you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thank you to all who left kudos and comments! They make my heart happy.


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